


The Lombardia Trophy

by Digital_Ink



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Cute, ISU compliant, Innocuous fluff, M/M, Puberty, Short Story, Shounen-ai, Skype, Strong Language, Valentines Exchange, Vignette, Work Safe, author fanboys figure skating really hard, author is not an author, friends - Freeform, puberty sucks for figure skaters and ballet dancers really hard, sfw, yurio is a swearbear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 09:21:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9715109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Digital_Ink/pseuds/Digital_Ink
Summary: Done for Aleiocus as part of the Yuri! on Ice Valentines Secret Cupid gift exchange.Very safe for work fluff about Otabek and Yurio's relationship, with a dash of "ugh, stop being so gross" for Victuuri.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aleiocus](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Aleiocus).



At fifteen, Yuri Plisetsky won the Grand Prix Final and surprised _everyone_ by snatching gold from Yuuri Katsuki who’s free skate broke world records.   Yuri would have pointed out that _his_ short program broke world records too, but no one had ever asked. He also would have said he _earned_ the gold and people could fuck off, but he wasn't supposed to get into fights with Katsuki's fans.

He will be sixteen when he skates in the Olympic qualifying competition Nebelhorn Trophy in Oberstorf, Germany the next September. Yuri _wants_ to take gold there, to have the whole of the Russian ‘team’ collect the Fritz-Geiger-Memorial Trophy as a show that they dominated the other countries in every discipline showcased (not _just_ men’s singles)...but he is not certain it will happen. If it were possible to flog the other skaters that will be entering under Russia’s flag into _not_ failing, he would, but the most he can do on his own is take first in men’s singles.

Just as Nikiforov had done in previous years. Just as he still planned on doing _this_ year, the sly bastard.

“If I’m lucky he will be so distracted by the _Katsudon_ in the next few months he won’t remember to enter.”

“Unlikely.” Is the answer from Yuri’s phone. He’s Skyping with Otabek and has been grumbling at his friend for ten minutes already about the engaged couple, how disgusting they are to work around, and how much he’s going to _crush_ them in the coming competitions.  

Otabek, wisely, says little.  They are friends, but it’s a strange friendship and they are both too old for their years in so many ways. Yuri with his soldier’s eyes and burning passion, Otabek with his steadfast nature and calm under pressure.

“So-” The Russian’s accent is harder to understand when they’re not in person, and he knows it - but he also knows that Otabek catches everything if he’s just a little careful; his friend has learned well in the time they’ve been growing this friendship.  So when Yuri begins speaking again, Otabek’s attention resets on his words and the blond pushes a cat’s fluffy tail out of the camera lens as he puts forth a question he already knows the answer to, “You’ll be there, right?”

“To take gold from you, of course.”  It’s unlikely, but Otabek’s goal just the same, and both are aware of the stakes - neither wishes to be left off the podium, and one may be. A known potential outcome but they don’t speak about _that_ and their conversations are tinged with sharp words that hold warm affection.

“Ha! Keep dreaming!” Yuri has leaned back, laughing and leaving only that sharp chin still in the frame and Otabek can’t help that his mouth keeps trying to twist into a smile at the audacity of his friend.  After a moment the blond’s face returns, loose hair falling into his eyes and framing his now-serious features in weird ways.  “You will have to settle for silver, I do not plan on losing to _anyone_ .”   _That_ is the fire, the _soldier_ , that dwells within Yuri Plisetsky and calls to Otabek.

 The media may call him the “Russian Fairy” because of his slender form and short stature, but very soon Yuri will make that appellation seem ridiculous and outdated. He’s hit another growth spurt, what should be the Big one, and at the most inopportune time. His bones already ache with it and there are mornings where he spends torturous minutes after waking trying to make his limbs behave as they should or rubbing out the over-taxed muscles.  He is _terrified_ of this growth spurt, it’s a fear all skaters - and danseurs - know very well: puberty changes your center of gravity, your body is no longer yours to control until you remaster it - _if_ you can.  Yuri swears at every deity he knows to hold off on growing until _after_ the Qualifier; he’s confident that if he grows after that time he will be able to make his changed body do as he wants it to, no matter what.

 But Mother Nature obeys no man, not even Yuri Plisetsky, and he has to spend days with Yakov and his rink mates watch him with knowing, strained expressions.

 Otabek knows, of course. He distracts his friend from the way his shoulders are broadening with stories of his sister’s antics. With weird photos tagged just for him on Instagram, song recommendations, and truly heinous costume ideas that he draws himself using his sister’s coloured pencils - just for Yuri. They don’t talk about how Yuri isn’t allowed to do quads right now, lest he hurt himself horribly - how Yakov didn’t want him doing _any_ jumps at all but gave in after Yuri’s imbalanced hormones had him both yelling and crying over it until Viktor intervened on his part.

 “I’m going to have to change my whole routine, it’s suited to-- It won’t work _now_ .” Yuri hisses the words, his face a mask of barely contained frustration and anger; he feels nothing but _rage_ at being knocked on his ass right after reaching the top. “ _Don’t expect me to cheer you fuckers on if I can’t go.”_ He sounds absolutely tortured even through the internet and Otabek’s speakers, but before he can try to say something to comfort the Russian, it’s done. As abruptly as the words and anger came, the connection is closed and both skaters are left looking at the little icon bubbles and the call length, one feeling as though he might explode from within, the other as though he’s failed in some way.

 ***

 In the months to follow, Yuri _grows_ . From 163 cm to 179 cm, putting him five inches taller than Otabek and the _same damn height_ as Viktor. “A centimeter shorter, Yurio!” Viktor likes to sing-song it to annoy him.  His body has changed from svelte and androgynous to rangy and clocking distinctly masculine,  his cheeks could _cut glass_. Otabek thinks he’s the most exquisite creature he’s ever lain eyes on and often dreams about what it would be like to touch the lines of Yuri’s body.

 They talk frequently, in short bursts. Mostly via text since they are both training heavily for Nebelhorn and because Yuri specifically is working hard to bring his body into control. He only grumbles a little when Yakov tells him he’ll be performing a ‘test run’ at the Lombardia Trophy in Bergamo over that second week in September, with two weeks between it and the Nebelhorn. Otabek will not be participating, which is disappointing, but Yuri weathers it fairly well by only having two panic attacks. Yuuri is who he turns to in those times, the Japanese skater having a sort of calming presence when not on the ice, but it’s Otabek he calls later to discuss the episodes with.

 When the seventh arrives, Yuri, Mila, and Yakov check into the hotel; Yuri rather likes Milan, but he’ll not get much time to wander the streets this go around. Yuri’s Angels are there, of course, but the Russian can barely stand to be near them with the strange new dimensions of his body and for once they let him go after only a few dozen selfies.  Yakov returns to where Mila and the newly released Yuri wait with their pile of luggage and they all head up to their rooms; his is a double and he thinks that’s absolutely _stupid_ but decides not to bother with it as there are more pressing things to attend to.

 On Saturday he skates fourth and his short program goes fairly well though he finds it hard to gauge just how much strength he’s putting into his jumps sometimes; he over rotates a triple axel and flubs the combo, and takes a nasty spill doing a quad loop, but almost makes up for it with a quadruple lutz that gets such fantastic height the sports casters comment about how _maybe_ a quint jump could be possible some day - just as the sports casters of old once spoke of quads.  In the crowd, Yuri seeks out Otabek’s face momentarily before realizing his friend is not at the event; he is somewhat somber as he skates off the ice and accompanies Yakov to the kiss ‘n cry.

 Sunday’s free skate will be better, he tells himself as the scores come in. He’s in _fourth_ and it _rankles_.

 Yuri Plisetsky is _better than fourth_ , even after only the short program.

 ***

 A repeated and obnoxious buzzing from his phone as he lays across one of the beds with a towel around his hips and heavy metal blaring through earbuds prompts Yuri to snarl as he unlocks his screen. There’s a text message from Otabek telling him to open his damn door already.

 Yuri makes a very ungraceful squawk as his body tries going every which way at once and he ends up a heap on the floor, half-strangled by his earbud cords.  “ _Fuck_ \--” he swears then focuses on standing properly, tossing his phone on the bed, and letting Otabek (and his luggage)  in.  They stand awkwardly for a few moments, the Kazakhstani man having to look _up_ and Yuri blinking stupidly because _oh_ . He hadn’t _realized_ .  Known he was taller, yes, but the full implications came crashing now and it was _so strange_ .  “You’re _short_.”

 Otabek snorts, “You were shorter.”

 “What are you even doing here? Why didn’t you _tell_ me you were coming!?” Yuri _loomed_ aggressively without meaning to, but Otabek wasn’t bothered; he’d been putting up with intimidation tactics from taller men for years. Skating was a cut-throat world  after all, and no matter that his friend now strongly resembled some sort of _demon_ with his face ugly-twisted like that, he was _still_ the Yuri Plisetsky that had an unholy interest in clothing with big cat prints,  that spoke in ridiculous lovey-dovey talk at his cat, and would text him at 3 AM (his time) with snapchat or just some photograph of an oddity.

 He was a giant _dork_ and Altin knew it.  “I’m here to cheer _you_ on.”

 “You’re kidding--no, you’re not. That’s _ridiculous_ ! What about your training!? There are three weeks to Nebelhorn, you can’t be fucking around in _Bergamo_ for fuck’s sake--” Voice spiraling until it broke, Yuri folded into himself only to be caught and hugged by Otabek; he was so _disgustingly_ happy to have him there it hit too hard and he was _crying_ like Katsuki.  A few minutes of soaking Otabek’s shoulder and both were sitting on the beds, Yuri in sweat pants with the scratchy hotel towel draped over his head as he looked over instagram.

“I’m glad you’re here.”

“I know.”

“Tomorrow I won’t screw up.”

“Of course not.” Otabek snorts and takes his laptop out so he can show off his adorable little sister again.

 ***

 Sunday goes _much_ better for Yuri. He skates with confidence and manages to land all his jumps without error though some are not as clean as they should be, and his longer limbs don’t always find the right places for spins or spirals. Having done ballet for so long, he can still manage doing his signature half-Biellmann, but it feels awkward no matter how technically proper it is.

 At the end of his free skate, Yuri is panting for air and his legs go unsteady. It’s like he Grand Prix Final all over again, and the crowd goes wild. Plisetsky is a fan favorite, there have been many tears shed and much speculation as to whether he’d weather this growth spurt and be able to continue as an Olympic hopeful, and they are _wild_ with the joy of seeing proof that he’s managed well enough to remain in competitions with the likes of Nikiforov, Giacometti, and JJ.  When he’s able, he skates off the ice and into Otabek’s arms, leaning heavily on the (now) shorter skater to get to the kiss ‘n cry.  Yakov looks pleased and while he has many corrections for Yuri, he holds them in for later.

 Yuri’s score isn’t record-breaking, but he finds nothing to complain about with a 198.57. He’ll place, he’s sure of it now.

 After all, Otabek is with him, how can he _not_?

***

[yuri-plisetsky]

 

❤ 8,528 likes

Yuri-plisetsky #lombardia #silvertastesokay #victory #otabekaltin #gorussia #goldatnebelhorn

View all 53 comments


End file.
